Man of My Dreams (19 page)

“Are you sleeping, lass?”

“Would it matter?” Megan grumbled, keeping her back to Lachlan, whose voice was coming unnervingly from directly behind her.

He
ought to be sleeping. She’d been waiting patiently for what seemed like hours to hear some sign that he was. His two companions were snoring away. But Lachlan had been suspiciously quiet, and Megan wasn’t taking anything for granted in her bid for freedom. She’d been determined to wait until she was positive he was asleep, so it was beyond aggravating to find him most definitely still awake.

“I’ve been thinking—”

“That’s a bad habit you have, MacDuell,” she cut in dryly. “You ought to give it up.”

“And that’s a bad habit
you
have, trying tae
provoke a mon’s temper.”

“Is it working?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, tempting Megan to turn over and look at him. She resisted. And then she heard his soft chuckle. Was there nothing the man
wouldn’t
find amusing? He was as bad as Devlin, not taking insults to heart, but worse, always being in such infuriating good cheer. It was almost impossible to stay mad at a man who was constantly grinning or laughing—almost.

“It’s come tae me, lass, that you might be thinking I’m no’ sincere in my desire tae wed you.”

“Not at all. Being tossed up onto a horse is quite clarifying.”

“I didnae toss you,” he protested.

“My bottom disagrees.”

There was a long pause, then: “I’d be happy tae massage the—”

“Don’t…even…think…it!”

Another chuckle had Megan gritting her teeth. “Verra well, but you should know I wouldna make that offer tae just any lass.”

“Is that supposed to tell me I’m special to you?” she scoffed. “After all of a few hours’ acquaintance, you find me special?”

“After all of a few seconds. I warned you that you’d stolen my heart.”

You’d better redirect his thoughts real quick. Hearing things like that is liable to turn your head
.

My head isn’t turnable, and stay out of this
.

“I don’t happen to believe in love at first
sight, MacDuell.” Which was a lie, since Tiffany was proof that it was definitely possible. “Lust, now—”

“You’re wounding me, darlin’.”

“About time.”

He burst into laughter. “I wish you could see as clearly as I do how well we’ll deal together just as soon as your temper calms down.”

“What makes you think my temper’s up? It’s not, you know. This is how I always am, perpetually disagreeable. It comes from being spoiled rotten, which I also am. Just ask Devlin—well, it’s too late to ask him, but he would have told you it’s true. He even calls me brat.”

“Och, it’s nae wonder you dinna like the mon,” Lachlan replied in an I-just-figured-it-out tone.

“I
told
you,” Megan bit out, rolling over in her frustration to castigate him royally, “I love—”

His mouth swooped down the moment she was on her back. She’d forgotten how close his voice had sounded, but he’d merely been biding his time, waiting to provoke her into facing him, in the perfect position to kiss her once she did.

Megan was shocked, not that he was kissing her—she wouldn’t put anything past a damned thief—but that it was so nice, almost as nice as—no, not quite that nice. She didn’t feel the surge of exciting sensations that she did when Devlin kissed her. Which wasn’t to say she felt nothing, it just wasn’t overwhelming.

“That’ll be enough of that, MacDuell,” she
said as she pushed the Scotsman back.

He was grinning down at her unrepentantly. Now why didn’t that surprise her?

“You canna say you didnae like it.”

“I can—but I won’t,” she allowed. “However, that’s quite irrelevant. Or have you forgotten that I’m carrying another man’s child?”

“I havena forgotten that you said so, but perhaps you’re forgetting that I dinna believe it. Admit it, darlin’, you’re as innocent as they come.”

“Naive, yes, but no longer innocent,” she maintained staunchly. “Now, I know there are men who would overlook that to marry me anyway, despite the baby, but somehow I doubt you’d fall into that category. So give it up, MacDuell. My condition isn’t going to go away, it’s just going to get disgustingly—noticeable.”

“Noticeable, but not disgusting, brat.”

Megan gasped at the sound of that familiar voice. Lachlan’s response was to swear quite ungentlemanly. And for a really large man, he moved incredibly fast in getting to his feet. But he had no more luck than Megan did, as she stood up more slowly, in trying to locate where Devlin was. It was just too dark beyond the immediate area of the fire to see anything but dense shadows.

“If you’re waiting for an invitation tae join us, mon, it willna be forthcoming,” Lachlan said. “I canna say I’m pleased at your arrival.”

“What a shame,” Devlin replied. “And here I was sure you were expecting me.”

They swung around to find him coming slowly out of the shadows from the north, rather than from the south. Megan ate up the sight of him, overjoyed that he’d actually come for her. She wanted to run to him, throw her arms around him, shower him with kisses, but the cursory glance he gave her kept her where she was.

Lachlan was more interested in the pistol Devlin had pointed at him. “I dinna suppose you’d be considering this an unfortunate mistake?”

“Would you?”

Lachlan had the audacity to grin. “Nay, I’d no’ be that stupid.”

“Neither am I,” Devlin said as he paused by Ranald to toss aside the gun the Scot had laid near to hand, then did the same with Gilleonan’s weapon.

“Are you sure, mon?” Lachlan dared to taunt. “You seem tae have come alone.”

Devlin shrugged. “A necessity, since no one else could keep up with Caesar.”

“Ah, the stallion. So I made a mistake, after all, in leaving him behind.”

“Generosity coming back to haunt you?”

“That it is.”

Megan had heard quite enough. “Do you two think you might get beyond this idle chitchat? I’m cold, hungry, and I’d like a decent bed before I attempt sleep again.”

“And here I thought I was keeping the wind off your back, darlin’.”

“Is
that
what you were doing?” she asked, her tone thick with sarcasm. “I’d never have guessed.”

The man
still
wasn’t abashed. “She says you call her a brat,” he said to Devlin. “I’m beginning tae see why. ’Course, it doesna matter a’tall when a mon looks at her,” Lachlan ended with a dramatic sigh.

Megan snorted her lack of appreciation for his wit. Devlin gave her a warning look. She noticed then that Gilleonan and Ranald had been awakened by the sound of their voices, and both were eyeing Devlin with not a smidgen of the nonchalance Lachlan was displaying. Foolish of her to have forgotten that this was still a situation on the dangerous side, and she and Devlin had yet to make their escape from it.

“I won’t kill a man for making a fool of himself over a pretty face,” Devlin said now.

“’Tis glad I am tae hear it.”

“But daring to take what’s mine deserves a black eye or two.”

Megan hadn’t heard that correctly. She couldn’t have. Lachlan didn’t doubt what he’d heard, though, and threw back his head with great guffaws. Gilleonan and Ranald were now smiling. Was she the only sane one there?

“Devlin, you don’t want to do that,” she pointed out in what she hoped was a perfectly calm tone.

“On the contrary, my dear,” he said with an underlying determination that made her groan inwardly. “I can’t think of anything I’d like to do more at the moment.”

“But—”

“Do you know how to shoot a pistol?”

She blinked at the change of subject and started to retort, “Certainly,” but that would have been prideful boasting, and this was no time for that. “No.”

“Good,” he surprised her by saying and handed his weapon over to her, but not before he had placed her finger on the trigger and aimed the gun in the direction of Lachlan’s two cohorts. “You’ll be more likely to shoot them if they even blink, won’t you? And watch
them
, Megan, not the fight. Can you do that?”

She was too upset at that point to do more than nod. She’d never held a gun before, never shot a man before, never had a fiancé about to get pounded into the ground by a veritable giant. Watch the audience instead of the fight? She’d probably faint if she had to watch Devlin getting hurt. How was
this
going to get them out of there?

The first blow was heard, making Megan cringe. Despite Devlin’s admonishment not to, and her own determination not to, she glanced swiftly toward the two combatants, then right back to the two she was supposed to keep from interfering. They didn’t look the least bit inclined to interfere, hadn’t even done more than sit up. And in that brief glance toward
the fight, Megan hadn’t been able to determine who’d been hit, though she assumed it was Devlin.

Another solid blow, another cringe, and another swift glance. But again she couldn’t tell who was taking the punches, who was receiving them. All she saw was the two men circling each other, searching for openings. Not surprising was that Lachlan was grinning. Devlin wasn’t. But Devlin’s form, fists raised, one arm slightly extended, straight-as-a-board stance,
was
surprising.

Megan had witnessed two other out-to-really-hurt-you fights in her life, one at a fair between a local blacksmith and a traveling fighter who was there to take on all comers for the entertainment of the crowds, and another between two of her suitors who were minor lords with some small knowledge of the gentleman’s art of college boxing. Devlin wasn’t fighting like the blacksmith, as she would have expected. Lachlan was, but Devlin was fighting like a gentleman. Now where the devil had he learned how to do that?

She had to be mistaken. Her glances had been too brief for her to be certain. Three more fists-to-skin-and-bone sounds were heard. She resisted looking. But the two men she was watching were telling. Gilleonan winced at one point. Ranald just looked amazed.

Megan couldn’t stand it anymore. She turned to watch the fight in earnest, and she hadn’t been mistaken. Devlin was indeed fighting like
a gentleman, with straightforward punches, lightning jabs, and not a single wild swing or wasted movement. He was also, incredibly, the one landing all the punches. His ducks and retreats were simply too fast for Lachlan. Of course, one punch from Lachlan would probably bring Devlin to his knees. The Scotsman just wasn’t getting a chance to demonstrate that fact.

On the other hand, Devlin’s unusual advantage didn’t seem to be doing him much good. Lachlan was still grinning, for God’s sake, and didn’t seem to be feeling any of the damage Devlin was inflicting. And there was some visible damage now. One of Lachlan’s eyes was most definitely going to turn black by tomorrow, was already red and starting to swell. His lower lip was a bit puffy. And was the left side of his jaw starting to swell, too?

Megan made her swift glances toward Gilleonan and Ranald now, continuing to watch the fight with distressed fascination. She ought to put a stop to it. Devlin had gotten what he had claimed to want, so why were they still going at it? And then it happened, what she’d feared would happen. Lachlan faked a left swing and connected with a right, squarely on Devlin’s jaw. Amazingly, Devlin staggered back only two steps before he caught his balance. His form remained the same, both fists raised, which clearly said he was prepared to take more damage. Megan wasn’t prepared to watch him do so.

“Enough!”

Lachlan glanced at her with an aggrieved look. “Have a heart, darlin’. I’ve only hit him once.”

Megan stared at the Scot incredulously. By the look of him, you’d think she’d snatched a favored toy away from a little boy. Devlin didn’t look too pleased either. Well, that was just too bad for both of them.

“You two might be having a great deal of fun, but I’m not having any. I’m about to have hysterics, actually, and I’ll probably shoot someone by accident while I’m at it, but what do I care?”

Devlin’s response to that was, “Can’t you
ever
do as you’re told?”

Since this was the second time in one day that she hadn’t done as she’d been told by him, and the first time had put her in this predicament, she naturally turned defensive. “When you’re my husband, Devlin Jefferys, you can give me orders to your heart’s content, but until you make that a fact instead of an intention, don’t expect me to obey you without a damn good reason.”

“I
had
a good reason, brat, which you are amply demonstrating. But did you just promise to obey my every command once we’re married?”

Megan opened her mouth for a quick denial, but snapped it shut, appalled that she might have done just that. “You can’t hold someone accountable for what they say during
hysterics,” she pointed out reasonably.

Devlin snorted. “I didn’t think so.”

Lachlan was laughing by then. “I dinna think I’ll be envying you after all, Jefferys. I could manage a week or two of her blathering, but no’ much more’n that. Would you be swapping the horse for her?”

“How quickly your
sincerity
changes colors, MacDuell,” Megan sneered. “And he doesn’t own Caesar, he only borrowed him from my father.”

“I dinna care who owns him, dar—”

“Call me darling once more and I’ll shoot you!”

Since she’d turned the pistol toward him as she yelled her threat, Lachlan made no reply, and for once he wasn’t grinning. But Devlin walked slowly toward her and took the weapon out of her hand.

Quietly, dryly, he said, “If you’re going to shoot him, my dear, you’ll have to take the safety off.” This he did, then handed the pistol back to her with a smile. “Now you can shoot him.”

She stared at the man she was supposed to marry and thought about shooting him instead. She didn’t. She gave him a hurt look and dropped the gun at his feet, then turned and walked away from him.

“Bloody hell,” he said behind her. “You didn’t
want
to shoot anyone, Megan.”

“That’s not the point,” she tossed back. “And see if I’ll ever protect you again.”